Of Darkest Desire
by Elenlor Edhelen
Summary: Sequel to 'Of Blackest Hate'. As Elladan struggles to retain his identity and independence throughout a daze of unimaginable pain, Elrohir recovers in Imladris, tortured by guilt over his brother's captivity. Legolas is torn between the two.
1. The Red

A/N: Ever evil Julia signing in with the first part of the sequel to _"_Of Blackest Hate." This is the manifestation of all the evil I can muster. Each chapter will start with a first person chunk from one of the twins, and switch to third. Each chapter will be in _one_ location. Yes. When I leave Elladan cliffies, which I will, you will have to wait two updates. Just because I am trying to stave off confusion, I hope you enjoy this, and _review_ this–even if all you do is tell me how bad it is. A thanks to my dear beta Michelle, who I probably had to bug unceaslessly before she got around to well, beta'ing. We still love her. I had fun with this chapter...I hope you like it. It was originally named "Red", but I added 'The' so it could be named after the Chevelle song. This was crazy fun to write! Please review if you read this.... Please.

**Daeomae**: Forgotten? Never! Life just tends to get in the way of writing...I am glad you liked it.... My Angst/Evil/Violence/Darkfic/Other Random Creepy Stuff muse had fun with that one. We like cliff hangers...Yes, we do...a little too much.

**Empath89**:Here is more!!!I hope you continue liking it.

**Hyperactive Forever**: Yes, it is Elrohir's turn to be in the spotlight next chapter, and won't you love to see his mood? Would you believe I have had the ending of the last part planned since the beginning of the story? That was random wasn't it? Oh god I'm rambling....

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**Chapter 1 - The Red**:

The journey to the mountain took us three weeks. Three weeks of trekking utterly untraceable ground. Three weeks of being shunned by everyone and everything besides "The Lady" as she was referred to in politely asked questions–most of which were about me–as no one seemed to know about the lovely gift of Elvish hearing. I am sick of being treated like a most delicate sculpture by "Her" followers. Sculptures have no room for escape.

None of them dared as much as touch me. I was given a horse which seemed to be as trained as everything else the woman touches, even my skills with animals were not of use in making the creature bolt.

All her warriors have an utter emptiness in their green eyes that only disappears when she gives them an order. Melime is little different. She looks fearful and timid until told to act otherwise. I saw "The Lady" give her a potion. Elves must be harder to brainwash than men.

I am certain that "She" is insane. She sweetly refers to me as her new pet, "Twice descendant of Finwe" or another alias in a seemingly endless torrent of other equally bizarre names, and often wonders aloud what shade of green my eyes will turn. I simply tell her I prefer them gray. If Legolas does not get me out of this rather difficult situation soon, I will make sure he is the first I kill when she sends me home emerald-eyed and murderous to bring her more elves or to take it over for her.

The journey was horrid. As much as I do not know what to expect now.... It must be better than the apprehensive glances, hushed whispers, and purely terrifying hollow-eyed staring...all eyes green. This insanity is a bit too much for me to comprehend. I do not like not understanding.

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The look in Elladan's eyes spelled out the complete confusion he'd been wrapped in since the beginning of this little escapade as the horse stopped by the gates of what was evidently an incredibly well disguised fortress. Despite further urging, the animal refused to move an inch until he rather hopelessly dismounted.

The poisonously lovely voice that had been plaguing the elder twin for a godly chunk of the journey sounded once again, "My sweet boy...we have arrived at my humble abode. Make yourself as at home as you can be, for it is to be yours as well now," the "Emerald Lady," as he for a while now had called her in his mind spoke again, this time to her brutish herd, "Retire to the warriors' quarters. I will call you when work need be done."

Elrond's eldest watched as at least fifty pairs of green eyes filled with the same eerie light that always filled them whenever an order was given. She scared him, more than just a little. The raven-haired elf feared the mindless obedience she could bring about like he had feared very few things over the course of his life. He would not be forced to admit it, but he feared _her._

The regal female turned to him, a smile that mocked good intent plastered on her too-pale face, "You, sweet boy, must see your lovely new abode." Her emerald eyes flickered, "It is no Last Homely House..." the smile turned ruthless and cruel as can be, "but it is all you get."

The next several hours were filled up neatly with a tour of a castle that must have been wrought from the nightmares of children. Hithwen had dragged a, much to his annoyance, bound Elladan through dozens upon dozens of rooms that were either fully equipped torture chambers, or torture chambers with all the instruments replaced by pale furniture that seemed hauntingly luminous in rooms crafted entirely of dark-grey stone.

The dark and dank chambers themselves brought about a paranoia, but the shimmering, far too perfectly cleaned instruments that filled too many of them for any kind of security solidified the effect. A torturer's playground. No two specimens were alike. Each perfectly shining knife could hold claim to a unique combination of handle style, steel (or alloy), and blade type. The all too finely made whips were crafted from different leathers and decorated with different intricate knot patterns, metal studs, and glass shards. The variety of restraints, pain-causing substances, and rare pain-causing instruments, was terrifying.

Elladan had a feeling that he would experience the terror of objects whose names he'd yet to know first hand. For the first time he knew to full extent the insanity of the woman who held him captive. Hithwen, whose name he now knew, was _mad. _And Maiar.

This _mad-woman_, who had blurted out her origin somewhere between the description of two favorite knives, had powers he could not begin to comprehend. This insane creature held his life in her bony, ring-studded hands. The jewels that decorated her were of such beauty that they _could not _escape notice. Shimmering, intricate and lovely. She was bejeweled to no end. Stones of perfect hues and luster set in mirthil and gold alike. Valinor. Jewels of Valinor.

The elder twin felt lost. His captor had existed since the beginning of time, and had held some unknown grudge towards his kin for almost as long. This mess would take time to escape. Time was something he sorely lacked.

An icy, ring-bound hand cupped his face and tore him from his dreaming. The voice that Elladan was sure would soon become the narrator of all his worst nightmares rang out in childish delight,"You are so strong. Like Finwe and Finwe's. Stubborn and strong-willed and utterly impossible to control!" Hithwen paused a moment, "Much as I would love to break you as you are, sweet boy, I do not have the time! They mustn't think you under my control when you return to Imladris. If you stay with me too long, they will."

His silver eyes fell on the shimmering dagger she fiddled with carelessly. Fine mirthil decorated with blood-red rubies. "Red is your color, is it not?" the gaunt woman asked simply, "just as blue is your brother's. And the both of you favor mirthil over gold. The moon to you shines brighter than the sun." Hithwen twirled the blade in front of her pale face, admiring the way it reflected the light, "I too favor ithil. As you can quite clearly tell," a bony hand gestured to the emerald sweep of her gown, "my color is that of the grass and the trees."

"It will almost be a shame to let you wear it, so lovely your pale skin and raven hair seem against scarlet cloth, now where was I?" She remembered the dainty weapon in her hand and smiled with an air of mock sweetness, "Ah, yes, too strong to be conquered...must make him weak."

The elder twin stared at her with a furious defiance, the cool dignity of royalty remaining ever present in bound wrists and a dirty face. _Words_ would never conquer Elladan. Neither would actions. That is why he did not flinch as the crimson sleeves were pushed from the arms that were bound in front of him, did not close his eyes as cold metal brushed his skin, and did not release the slightest whimper of pain as the shimmering blade cut each of his veins in turn. Silver eyes stared, unblinking, at the torrent of _red_ that rushed over his ivory skin. One thought crossed his mind: _blood looks so different when it is your own._

A/N: Review!!!!

Beta's Note: Elenlor Edhelen is a lot like the "Emerald Lady" – except slightly less insane and dark. Seriously!


	2. Tired

Disclaimer: I'd kill for it! But Arda and its occupants do not belong to me.

A/N: This chapter is actually rated R, for extremely heavy subject matter. No character death...Yet. sinister grin. This chapter is kind of just freaky. I am sorry you had to wait for so long, but my muses ditched me. I finished it the first chance I got. Elrohir this time. Enjoy. Usual request for reviews applies.

**Empath98**: Yes, you were first. You get your choice of a cookie or a mini-choco-elf. Yes, I bet people do love it when I update...it happens so rarely. Keep being a faithful reviewer! The psycho at this end of the keyboard likes those reviews...

**Daeomae**: Me? Wicked? You shouldn't have! Yes, the plot will only keep thickening...and thickening...to the point where even I get confused. I wonder what you will think of me after this chapter though...:has not written anything remotely evil at all:

**Hyperactive Forever**: Good? twitches violently I'm sorry, I do not throw granola. I throw rocks, glass shards, and olive forks. I have updated. Not really that soon though...I think you will hate me for this one.

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Chapter 2: Tired:

I am tired. So tired. My brother gave up his freedom to save my life and I cannot even recover properly. I will not even recover properly. Legolas rarely has the time to stay with me, he searches for Elladan almost constantly. I have been told that he has arrived back from yet another unsuccessful round of scrutiny. He will rest and come to me as always.

His conversation is to me as food–which I have been avoiding–to a starved traveler, my friend's presence is needed. His hopeless optimism and both spoken and silent support and reassurance is worth to me more than the jewels of Valinor.

I feel drained. I have been awake less than a week. The amount of blood I have lost remains dizzying as my body works in a rapid elvish manner to right all wrongs. I am holding it back, I know. Breathing is painful, and my lungs feel heavy as lead. Though I am told I will survive, I doubt it on frequent occasions.

Elladan is afraid. He fears so few things I never feel terror tugging at our bond. I want to leave this bed and assist the feverent search, using the connection of our minds to its full advantage, but I cannot even sit up without assistance. I hope Legolas arrives soon, as my own pessimism is bound to drive me insane in a very short amount of time.

At the moment I am tempted to beat my head against the nearest wall until I lose consciousness, but the slow spinning of the room as I attempt to rise is an unneeded reminder of my inability to do so. I would call myself brutishly stubborn, as I am at war with my own body at the moment. I need to talk to someone, before I drive myself mad.

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Hollow eyes stared at the ceiling, the feeling of despair the slim figure sprawled on the bed felt radiating through them like dark rays. Elrohir knew he hadn't been eating nearly enough to support his weakened body, but the elf did not quite care. His brother was not eating. Neither would he.

Silver eyes continued boring into the white-painted surface, thoughts barely grazing their owner in his private island of agony. The door swung open, but he failed to notice. Elrohir was not in good condition.

Legolas entered the room to see his friend in a horrid state. Saying nothing, he sat in the chair Elladan had set out when his brother was first injured. Now the seat belonged to the Mirkwood Prince. A slender hand stroked the raven hair of the wounded elf on the bed, as the normally lighthearted blond once more rose to the occasion.

After a few minutes of heavy, lingering silence, the youngest son of Elrond finally spoke, "I want to sit, Legolas..." he trailed off, ever unable to ask for assistance; but his Sinda friend understood his request, long ago used to his mannerisms. Legolas placed some cushions behind his friends back, flashing him a knowing grin.

"Your father says you have not been eating. Elladan told me to look after you. I shall do whatever it takes to make sure you are alright. I will not fail him," the blond prince rather affirmed.

"Stop talking about Elladan as if he were dead!" Elrohir burst out, "He will be alright."

The Mirkwood Prince furrowed his fair brow, "You have changed the topic of discussion. You have been starving yourself. You do not have to endanger yourself because your brother is in danger. You owe it to him to stay well."

A muddled expression crossed the raven-haired elf's face, "Legolas–I, I have a reason. You understand that he is in captivity, and that is due entirely to me. I will not eat while he does not eat."

Thranduil's heir made his disapproval known instantly, "That is possibly the most idiotic thing I have ever heard you say," his frown deepened, "You will eat. And you will be as close to fully recovered as possible in the given time when Elladan is brought home."

"My mind is at rest. No food shall pass my lips until my brother is safe," the younger twin once more affirmed.

"I am sorry, Elrohir," Legolas ominously voiced as long strides carried him from the room.

"Sorry!" the all too delicate seeming form on the bed spat as the door opened to let his companion out of the room, "Legolas!"

The door shut behind the blond, "Come back!"

Silence.

Elrohir was once more alone in the silence that eternally threatened to push him the short distance he stood from utter insanity.

An uneasy feeling began to grow in his heart. Elrond's younger son brushed it off. Insanity. Delusion. Paranoia. Yes, paranoia. 'You have recently been shot by a being you considered an ally, then kidnaped. You are bound to be a little bit too wary,' he told himself.

The door cracked open. Lord Elrond Peridhel stepped in, his eyes filled with an overpowering darkness. Two servants entered after him, one holding an odd instrument, the other a bowl. Their eyes were filled with the same dull blankness as his father's. Legolas entered after the party. And his eyes were the worst of all.

"Adar? What is happening?" the raven-haired elf inquired, a slightly shrill nervous edge coming to his voice. father

"Forgive me, ion-nin, for what I am about to do," the Lord of Imladris blankly orated. my son

"What is happening Adar, tell me!" Elrohir question once more, more frantically this time.

This time, the healer said nothing, silently instructing the two servants. The Mirkwood Prince stood in a corner, a pained look in his eyes. Blue eyes were begging for forgiveness. In his pained, somewhat starved state, the son of Elrond did not realize what for.

The same blue eyes watched as the Lord of Imladris silently approached his son, his imposingly tall figure towering over the bed-ridden one near him. Elrohir opened his mouth to protest, and the action was duly repaid. The raven-haired elf found his jaw held open with an odd contraption with a tube attached to it.

At that moment Elrohir knew what was happening. He watched in horror as a pump-like device forced the disgusting substance in the bowl into his mouth. Swallow or drown. The slimy concoction slid down his throat, and he had to fight to repress his gag reflex–not the best time to vomit–as the seconds seemed to transform into hours.

The already weak elf's body had finally had too much, and the last thing the silver-eyed elf saw before his silver eyes closed was his friend's mouth forming the simple words '_forgive me.'_

A/N: Reviews make my night.


	3. Lesson of the Day

Disclaimer: I don't own the elves. I own Hithwen and all other original characters. But I don't think anyone wants to take those from me. I think they would kill most anyone while they slept.

A/N: I know it's been a while. I know this is shorter than usual. I am sorry. But I kind of like this chapter. It's the start of a whole lot of Elladan angst, at any rate. The next chapter should be up sooner, as I have all the concepts down. My goal is to have the next chapter before _With Teeth _(New Nine Inch Nails! New Nine Inch Nails!) is released. Oh yes, one more thing. Everyone has read the first part of this series (Of Blackest Hate), right? I just want to fend off all confusion and protect you... By the way, Michelle (my beta) is sick right now, so she may miss a few things.

**Andromida-197- **Here is more. Thank you! It is fun to separate them...:evil grin: It wasn't soon...I am sorry though! I'll try to do better!

**Hyperactive Forever**- Well, you should hate me for being evil! I am glad you liked it. He really does need to eat...Stubborn git. We could have a rock-throwing party! I think they used to call those stonings...

**Empath89**- :hands you a mini-choco-elf: Eat! Partake of the food of the gods! Yes, poor, poor Elrohir. Whatever did he do to deserve my evil?

**LilPippin**- Yes, they were force feeding him. Because he was starving himself. Well, you shall see what happens to the twins yourself. I couldn't spoil anything, could I?

**Delano**- Sorry...that was not a speedy update, but here it is all the same.

**Curious One**- I am glad that you like it, and flattered that you find it original. Well, Elrond wouldn't just let him _starve_ would he:evil grin:

**katquest2000**- I'm sorry! I left you guys hanging in midair...

**Riniel Remethiel**- That is oh-so-flattering. I am so glad you enjoy it. Well, you will see for yourself how this ends. I spoil nothing. Do believe that I can live through any wrath I might face. I mean...I am...me (an acronym for malicious and evil). A beta is someone who edits the story for grammar, spelling, and typos. In response to your review for chapter one, I do not, and never truly have written slash for LotR. Lord of the Rings is where I resolve my non-romantic angst.

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Chapter 3 - **Lesson of the Day**:

If I hadn't just seen the deep wounds on my wrists, made to let my life's blood seep out of me, close to keep what's left of it in; I would never have believed such a thing possible. But it happened here, where I still lie–in the very place I collapsed into a growing puddle of my own blood, what seems like hours ago.

My head is spinning. The room is spinning. Blood loss. Nothing I haven't experienced before, but nothing you can ever get used to either. I would like to run a finger along each of the new and faint scars on my wrists, formed and faded by the whisper and caress of The Emerald Lady, but I am sure I cannot muster the strength. What little power I still command must be put to work reenforcing the defenses of my mind. I must prepare. Pain lies ahead. But I must preserve my free will. It's the only thing I've never had to let go.

* * *

Elladan lay sprawled in the crimson puddle of his own blood, Hithwen hovering over him like a mother hen hovers over her newly hatched chicks. Well, a deranged mother hen. She vocalized her madness, her voice the usual commanding murmur, "May I once again note, how red becomes you," she paused, running her hand down his tunic, "I can see it now...running down your ivory chest, and your legs, and your arms... Oh yes! The red becomes you!"

The peredhel moaned in response, unable to force the sarcastic words he so desperately wanted to say to the surface, too weak from the recent loss of blood.

She beamed at him and quickly sliced through the ropes on his wrists. The madwoman then gently began to undo the belt that was clinched around his waist, holding his tunic in place, "I could never make you stop wearing red... Perhaps we could avoid forcing you into emerald...though you would look lovely in that, too..." She forced his torso off the stone floor as she pulled off the raven-haired half-elf's crimson tunic, and his head hit the ground with a soft thud. Elladan let out another moan.

She was like a careless child playing with her doll, and he was too powerless to protest.

Bony yet nimble fingers flew to the laces of dark leggings, and the subject that held The Lady's attention raised his head in an attempt to offer some resistance, but Hithwen forced him back down with a, "Shush! This is what you need! You shall be transformed. Stronger. Braver. Better than ever before. There's just a little pain is all..."

The insane female pulled off his boots, and they were followed by the now-undone leggings.

"There!" the Maia exclaimed with almost childlike glee, "Alone, naked, vulnerable. Nothing between you and me but time and space," she paused; noting the living, unextinquished fire in his eyes. "But still a warrior. A warrior even without hope."

Bony fingers snapped around one of his wrists, and the fragile-seeming woman dragged Elladan across the icy floor. The rough stone scraped pale and tender skin as the peredhel struggled to keep track of his whereabouts. He had to remain of at least that much if he wanted a chance at escape.

Hithwen passed through a door way, carelessly and violently bashing her captive's shoulder against its stony frame. Elladan sensed the beginning of a new bruise.

He couldn't understand her power. This bony woman–sickly and frail by all appearances–but so strong. She could fight for herself, but never did. She controlled others. The puppet master, he thought regretfully.

Cursing himself for the momentary distraction, Elladan examined the new chamber.

"Ai Valar," the peredhel managed to mutter under his breath as he fully took in the ornamental weapon displays, suspensions, whips, chains, and other assorted devices that now surrounded him.

Elladan felt his elbow bump against a metal loop that was bolted to the floor. It was one of many. The floor was strewn with hooks and loops of iron meant to work with chains and manacles. The Lady seemed fond of her variety–her victims could suffer anywhere in the room.

The raven-haired half-elf noted Hithwen's childlike glee as she scanned the walls for a fitting restraint. After a few minutes the mad Maia finally settled on a pair of leather loops, which she slipped onto the wrists of her soon-to-be victim and subsequently tightened.

Elladan was left dangling against the wall, knees slightly and uncomfortably bent, and feet dragging on the ground. Silver eyes darted to his captor.

Hithwen smiled girlishly as she played with a ruby-studded mirthil dagger–the peredhel quickly noted that it was not the same one that had been used to slit his wrists–it somehow seemed crueler.

She tested the sharpness of the blade against the bone white crevice between her thumb and forefinger. The Maia watched the crimson blood drip toward her wrist for a moment, and then lapped at the sticky fluid with an eager tongue, "I am certain yours shall be sweeter," the madwoman grinned, savoring the metallic taste of her own blood as she approached Elladan, "there is something about goodness that enriches the taste."

Here emerald eyes carefully scanned her prisoner's fair skin for the location of her first cut, "Such a shame I am not the first to mark you," she placed the tip of the dagger above his nipple, "battle wounds long healed," she murmured as she slowly dragged the knife across a small distance to create a shallow yet painful cut.

"How many of them did you suffer defending your comrades...Your brother?" soft voice, cruel smile, sharp knife carefully trailing across his collar bones.

"Unnecessary, if you ask me," the woman carefully scratched a bloody scar into the smooth skin of his upper arm.

"Someone like you should never take someone else's blows," a cruel smile played across her features, "Yes, that shall be our lesson of the day," she drew the blood-tinged knife across his ribs, "Never, never, take someone else's pain."


	4. Not Here

Disclaimer: This is mine...just like Pamela Anderson's boobs aren't implants. But unlike her, I'm not making money.

A/N: Hello, hello, my dear readers! I am so very, very sorry that this chapter was so long in the making. I know...it's a bitch waiting for my updates. But I've had a very busy summer, a time-consuming summer job, a play...and I've been concentrating on my grades these first few months of school (they weren't so hot last year). To top that all off, my muses decided to run very, very far away from this story. But everything came together, this chapter is posted, and the next should be up quite a bit faster. Great thanks to my dearest beta, Insane Vampiress. Always remember...the more you review, the faster I update–it really is so inspirational to see that people are reading. And...enjoy!

**empath89**: Yes...my lovely villainess, is quite off in the head, isn't she? Well, enjoy that, keep reviewing and there will be plenty more chocolate elves in it for you...I hope you enjoy this chapter.

**Hyperactive Forever**: Yes...someone does need to stop Hithwen dead in her tracks, but who among our dandy cast could challenge one of the Maiar? Don't worry about hurting Elrohir...he's hurt plenty without your help. And thank you for the compliment, angst is my favorite to write. Here's Elrohir's POV...a bit long in the making though. Nevertheless, enjoy!

**Sarah**: Well, I'm afraid you had to wait a while...but here is the update.

**Elladan of Rivendell:** Well, I'm glad you enjoy my twisted little creation. Thank you for reviewing, and here's one to trigger your alerts.

**Brainy**: I am very glad you like, and very sorry about how long you had to wait...I'm afraid I can be a bit unfriendly sometimes when it comes to updating... And if you're going insane...well, read this, and you'll find you're not the only one. evil grin

**Lanira:** Whatever gave you the idea that this was abandoned...? innocent smile I'll try to make that suspicion a bit easier to avoid next time–enjoy!

**Ceasta**: Thank you! I'm glad you like my villainess, because she's here to stay...

_**Chapter 4: Not Here: **_

The images of his suffering in my head are vague, vague but all too existent. A silver dagger, decorated with shining rubies and fresh blood flashes in my mind, and then the sparkling crimson gushing down the pale torso of a limp figure I can just barely identify as my brother.

That's all I can manage to grasp before I am snapped back to consciousness, and the first wave of retching overtakes my body, forcing the nourishment that was forced into it out. I see my father, eyes silver and sad, gesture to a servant, who rushes out of the room to fetch something. Another quickly rushes in with a bucket, as the strong hands of my sire steady my shoulders.

I continue dry-heaving long after my all too abused body is emptied of the only food it's contained in weeks, and then, I am left lying on the bed as more visions of my twin's suffering sweep into my mind.

Elrohir lay on the bed, the ceiling above him spinning, death he'd barely escaped time and time again feeling all too welcome. His healing chest was wracked with unimaginable pain caused by the intense heaving he'd just been doubled over with, and the thin mental barrier between him and his brother was trembling with his brother's agony.

The younger twin managed a thought about how much what he was feeling right now must be adding to Elladan's suffering, and struggled to block off his feelings, not finding strength to do so. Suddenly, something else flashed on the other end of the line, courage. Extreme, senseless courage. A weak smile played upon Elrohir's face–Elladan was still Elladan.

His brother's bravery snapped him out of his misery, and a flash of the same emotion rippled through him; letting his twin know he felt something other than despair.

Elrond, who had left his son's side for a few moments returned to him, sensing his child's slight relief. He smiled a sad smile, knowing that for at least a very short while, one of his sons would have some sort of peace. The mighty peredhel turned his thoughts away from the previous night's vision, and to the present needs of his offspring.

Elrohir chuckled softly, though the action did cause him some pain. "Adar, I think some food would be optimal now." His voice was weak, and the smile that played upon this face was bereft of any actual joy–sparkling instead with intense cynicism.

"Very well, I shall have a bath drawn and some food you'll be able to ingest in your current state prepared?" the Lord of Imladris suggested, drawing his son's attention to the his state of uncleanliness. "Arwen wants to see you, I've been a little nervous about letting her witness you in your earlier state. She is so young and impressionable... And that recent shock she has had..."

"_After_ I bathe," Elrohir muttered, scrunching his nose at a thought of the substance in his hair.

The expression on his son's face merited another of Lord Elrond's rare smiles, and he walked off, directing servants and making sure they knew what to do with his injured child.

The half-elf stared at the still-moving ceiling, convincing himself everything would be alright. They'd find Elladan, and bring him home, and the younger twin would be damned if he didn't tend to his stubborn, horrid, and hopelessly-worried-over brother himself. He could even imagine himself losing his voice screaming at the patient (confirmed by Elrond himself to be the worst ever) as he treated him.

Before he had time to worry that his twin's injuries might already be far, far beyond his limited prowess in healing, the door opened and a fairly young elf familiar to him (was his name (translate quick hand?) came over to help him get to the bath, and Elrohir was confronted with the harsh reality–he was utterly unable to get there by himself.

After he'd made the far too difficult journey, politely thanked the elf for his assistance and watched him walk off, the peredhel flung off the loose leggings that had served as his clothes through nearly every one of his many injuries.

Lowering himself into the filled tub was a painful process, but it wasn't a fruitless labor. Water. Water to cleanse his body and to temporarily cleanse his mind and soul of the pain and worry that consumed them. Water to fill him with a sense of paranoia he couldn't understand.

There was just something about the comfortably warm water that rinsed the lather from his hair and washed the suds from his pale skin, leaving him so refreshingly clean. Something about it as it dripped from his long, raven hair and traced a path down his too-lean body.

Elrohir dried himself, watchful of the stitching in his chest, and carefully pulled on the leggings. Perching on the edge of the tub, he wondered exactly how he was supposed to get back to bed. That rather brief train of thought lasted until (same name as before) came back to check on him and to make the painstaking process of returning to the sick-room.

The place was almost as much home to him as his own chamber, albeit a rather more depressing version of said home. He'd spent at least a night there for most every scar that was, or had ever been on his body, and even one scar a century (and he could own up to much more than that) would have been quite a bit of nights in the sick-room.

He decided that he didn't feel like thinking. He was now slipping into a comfortable bed, by which a table with a tray adorned with some soup and fresh-baked bread had been placed. Not the time for thought.

Elrohir ate, completely depleting the tray and still wanting more (which he wasn't allowed because he needed to be eased back into the art of eating).

The peredhel rested against the cushions, relaxing a bit until a worried younger sister peeked through the now slightly-opened door, escorted by none other than Legolas.

After assuring that he was alright, rushed over to him, squealing his name, and threw her arms around him (slowing down a bit to avoid aggravating his healing wound). His friend followed her calmly, smiling at her rather childlike antics (she was after all, little more than just that).

Cynicism oozed from his every pore, and Elrohir couldn't help but think that his friend was being affected rather negatively by this whole business, worried about both him and Elladan, and ridden with guilt for not being able to do more to help them.

"You worried me, gwador... Adar wouldn't let me see you," Arwen murmured, "I was afraid it meant you were dying, or something of the nature." brother

"Va! Silly girl...I'm anything but dead," her brother laughed. No

Legolas still stood behind her, unwavering in his silence.

"Well...I can see that, and I am quite relieved," she announced.

A smile spread across Elrohir's face (his golden-haired friend smiled, too, but uttered not a sound), "I have missed you dearly, Lady Undomiel. And I do believe you've grown even prettier since I saw you last."

She grinned at him, and struck a pose, "Adar says that he is growing tired of rejecting my suitors."

"Who is he waiting for?" he questioned.

"Someone he deems worthy..." she uttered disdainfully, "And I do believe that someone simply doesn't exist."

Elrohir chuckled, "I suppose he's looking for someone that he sees you will love," then, with a thought, "He's given up on telling me and Elladan to go out and find ourselves some kind of match."

"I suppose he's decided to let you take your time as well..." Arwen continued the conversation, but frowns tainted the faces of all those present at the mention of that which they were failing to reclaim.

The elder of the peredhil present expected Legolas to mention something about his twin, and the progress of the search...but there was still only silence from that nonexistent end of the conversation.

"You seem distracted, Elly..." his sister chimed, "Is anything wrong?"

"Well...I'm fine," he replied, "It's just that...Legolas, he hasn't made a sound this whole time." He stared up at the stately, blonde figure.

When Elrohir's attention returned to the Evenstar, she was gawking at him–eyes wide and mouth slightly open. It took her a moment to recollect all thought, but she eventually whispered, "Elrohir...Legolas left a while ago to join a fresh search-party. He isn't here."


End file.
